With Flowers in his Hair
by coffeecoffeecoffee83
Summary: It's 1972, and after some time away from Stars Hollow, Taylor meets someone who could potentially change the way he sees the world. One-Shot


_**A/N:** How long has it been since I actually wrote something GG, right? Years. But, see, Christine and I were having a conversation about Taylor, and this came into my head. A little "what if?" scenario. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, but now, the more I think about it, the more this situation seems feasible.  
_

_So, I both thank and curse Christine (WriteChristeR - formally Lorelai90) for getting this idea stuck in my head and bugging me about when I was going to post it. Also... big smooches to all my former OLC girls, who are likely to be the only ones who read this. :)_

_I've been working with a beta in my new fandom, and gotten quite used to that. But this isn't beta'ed, so apologies for any mistakes._

* * *

_**1972**_

Taylor Doose looked out over the town square in disgust. He wasn't a child and couldn't comprehend why he still let his father boss him around so much. If he'd been a better man—more headstrong and confident—he would be able to stand up to the man who raised him. If he'd been that man, he wouldn't have been forced into cleaning up the litter left behind after those damned hippies left town.

As he slowly filled his garbage bag, he couldn't stop his thoughts from focusing on the old man. Emphasis on the "old man" part. The once vibrant war hero, his gallantry medals still gathering dust on the mantle after over twenty-five years, was no longer the man he was. Both his body and his mind were failing him, and he had ordered his eldest son back to Stars Hollow to take over the store.

"It's time for you to stop gallivanting around that city and find a nice girl to settle down with," had been the exact words.

It wasn't the settling down part Taylor objected to. It was that the parade of eligible young ladies brought before him held no interest. They were pretty, sure. Good families? Of course. But Taylor believed that there was supposed to be some sort of attraction to a potential spouse. He felt nothing for them.

Sighing, Taylor tried to force thoughts of the local girls from his mind and focus on making the town look beautiful once more.

He was almost half-way across the square when he caught sight of someone slouched against the side of the gazebo, long blond hair fluttering in the breeze. A distinct sweet smell hit his nostrils, and he decided to tell this girl that the rest of her gathering had already left. She'd been deserted.

"Excuse me, Miss…"

The figure turned to look up at Taylor.

"Or…. _Not_ a Miss," Taylor amended when he saw the face.

"Wasn't last time I checked," the man replied. He was about the same age as Taylor, with tanned skin and hypnotising blue eyes. His loose shirt hung from one shoulder, exposing the top of a muscular chest.

"Uh—um—," Taylor stuttered. He was unsure where to look. His mind was in a panic, wanting desperately to turn and get back to his work, but his body refused to cooperate. He was stuck, rooted to the spot, and as useless as the slacker in front of him.

"Whatcha doing?" Long-Hair asked. "Want to pull up a pew?" He gestured toward the patch of dirt next to him.

"Uh, no thank you."

"Your loss," he said with a shrug. He pulled out a thin joint and lit it up.

"I, uh…. Your group has all gone. You shouldn't be here anymore."

Long-Hair looked up at him, relaxed and ambivalent. "Shouldn't I?"

"Uh, no."

"Should any of us really be here? Where is _here_?"

Taylor frowned in confusion, wishing desperately he had the strength to just walk away and call the town's lone policeman. "Excuse me?"

"How do you know that all of this"—he waved his hand around his head, indicating the world around them—"is real? How do you know that we're not just some omnipotent being's imagination?"

"That's ridiculous," Taylor scoffed, moving to lean against the gazebo next to where the hippie was sitting.

The man levelled his gaze at Taylor, drawing him in. "Is it?"

Unable to control his body, Taylor found himself sliding down the wall into a sitting position, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was unsure why he was even staying here talking to this guy, let alone sitting down with him. This was the situation he found himself in – having what seemed to be an existential debate with a guy who was high. A very good-looking guy, sure, but a high guy nonetheless.

_Wait, what? Where did that come from?_

Taylor emphatically shook his head, trying to lose any thoughts of the hippie's attractiveness from his brain. It was a ridiculous thought to have.

"What's your name?" hippie guy asked, twirling a loose piece of thread from his shirt around his finger.

"Uh… what?"

"Your name. It's not that hard a question, is it?"

Taylor looked at the ground, his face flaming. "No, I guess it's not."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Your name?"

"Oh. Taylor Doose."

"Well, Taylor Doose. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He stuck his hand out, and after a few seconds of leaving him hanging, Taylor tentatively shook it. "The name's Georgie."

"Georgie…" Taylor tested the name out on his tongue, and it seemed to flow nicely. It sounded right. "You know all the other freaks have left town, right?"

Georgie shrugged. "I don't follow them and they don't follow nobody else. We make our own rules. I'll go where I feel."

The two seemed lost in their own thoughts for several minutes, listening to the quiet murmur of the townsfolk going about their days in the stores surrounding their haven.

"I'm not some small-town nobody like you think I am," Taylor murmured. He seemed to find himself desperate to gain the hippie's approval.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I never thought anything like that."

"I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for my father," he sighed, deep in the memory of where his life went wrong. "I would give anything to go back to Boston; to be surrounded by people who care about humanity and more of the world than these three square miles of Rockwellian wet dream."

Georgie raised an eyebrow in Taylor's direction at the phrase, which seemed odd coming out of the buttoned-up man.

"There's nothing here for me," Taylor mused, almost as if he didn't realize he was being heard. "Where's the power to do good and change the world in Stars Hollow? The people here won't change; they won't see just how much potential man has."

"Maybe it's your destiny—if, as you insist, you can't leave—to make them change their thinking. Open up the world to them. Show them what is possible. You're starting here, cleaning up this patch of grass. Lead by example."

"I can't lead."

"Why not?"

"My father leads. That's what he does. He scares people into doing what he wants with his stare, his bark, and his devastatingly perfect beard."

Georgie looked at him and laughed. "Well, to be a leader you don't need a stare and a bark. And who knows – I think you'd look quite good with a beard. Distinguished, even."

Taylor didn't reply. He simply stared at the stranger, watching him with curiosity. There was a way Georgie spoke and moved his hands which was almost mesmerizing.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a hand on his knee.

He looked down at the hand and then up at its owner, panic written across his face. "What are you doing?"

"Being comforting? Getting closer to you?"

"Wh—what?" Taylor looked at Georgie's hand, resting on his knee, pointedly.

"It's okay, Taylor. I can tell you're one of us."

"One of use? What on earth? I'm not some hippie freak!" He scrambled a few feet away, trembling slightly.

"Wow. Defensive, much? I didn't mean that. I meant that you're of… my persuasion."

"What?"

"Come on, Taylor. I get it if you don't tell people around here. They're obviously a bunch of squares, but you can't deny that you want me. Just a little bit."

"Huh? What do you—?" And at that moment, Taylor understood what Georgie was inferring. His chest clenched painfully in panic, and he scrambled to his feet, putting distance between the two. "You don't know what you're talking about. I would never—."

Georgie looked up at him with sympathetic eyes and sighed softly. "Oh, Taylor. Don't do this to yourself. You're only hurting yourself by denying it. All that internal struggle you deal with daily? It could all be gone if you just accept who you are."

Taylor felt his face go red and tears began to spill over. "Stop it!" he yelled. "Just get out of here. Get out of my town. You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not like that."

Ever so slowly, as if he was afraid of spooking a horse, Georgie stood up, keeping his back flat against the sidings of the gazebo. "It's okay, man. You're not ready. I get it. I'm sorry."

Taylor's brain was swimming, fury and fear ripping through him at the accusation. "Get out of here. Please," he whispered, backing away slowly.

Georgie looked him right in the eye, glancing around to check nobody was close by. "Sorry, man. But if you want to talk to someone, we often hang out in Washington Square Park in the city. If I'm not there, someone can find me."

"I don't need to talk to anyone," Taylor bit out, grabbing his trash bag and storming across the square, his litter search ignored. He stuffed the half-filled bag into the can outside the store and ran around the corner to their house. He was half way up the stairs to his bedroom when the voice he truly didn't want to hear called from the living room.

"Taylor. Get in here, son."

Like a deer in the headlights, he froze mid-step. He knew that if he ignored his father, the repercussions would be dire, so against his better judgement, he wiped his tear-stained face on his sleeve, took a few deep breaths, and trudged back down the stairs.

"Yes?" He tried to keep his gaze on the ground so nobody saw his red eyes.

"Look at me, boy. I've got someone I'd like you to meet."

Cringing, Taylor looked around the room.

"This is Jeanette. She's from Woodbridge, and you'll be taking her out tonight."

Taylor looked at her. Sure, she was pretty – in a generic way. Her blonde hair was pulled in a high ponytail like most of the preppy girls, and her floral skirt sat against porcelain white legs. But as he looked at her, he knew that there wouldn't be a second date.

For a second, Georgie's allegations flashed through his mind.

_No. That's disgusting. He's wrong._

He faked a smile. "Who wouldn't want to take out such a lovely lady?"

But when he turned out of the room, he couldn't help but sigh to himself. "Me."


End file.
